


Nowhere, Nobody Else

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, The Phantom of the Opera (TV 1990)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 16:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14216802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Philippe doesn't visit Erik often. It's a little too intense.On the other hand, he can never stay away for good either.





	Nowhere, Nobody Else

Philippe doesn’t come down to see Erik often. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s that he…somehow he forgets. He knows he likes it down here, but Erik is intense, and seeing him takes so much energy. It’s not something he does to release stress or to enjoy himself, really. There are easier ways of doing that. He knows easier people to bed, louder, more distracting places to be. So weeks sometimes pass between his visits. He’ll start feeling guilty. He’ll avoid the opera house for a while. Then one morning he’ll wake up and he’ll know he can’t stay away any longer.

On those mornings, he brushes his hair and combs it carefully, and he wears his best clothes. Only one person will be seeing him but that happens to be the one person in the world he wants most to impress. For a man of his limited worldview, Erik has very specific tastes. He’ll critique a man for coming to the opera wearing gray or navy blue rather than black, or a suit that is not from he latest season. He’ll scold Philippe for lint or messy hair, fond but sharp. He has a certain image of Philippe, drawn from wistful nights when he watched from a distance rather than actually talking to him. It really was a while before he dared to talk to Philippe, and he built up an idea of Philippe that was quite suave and even grandiose. Philippe has never lived up to it, but Erik cherishes it nonetheless.

Today, in particular, Philippe gets himself in order. He is careful with the bow at his collar. He tucks every last hair behind his ears. And he heads off to the opera house. It is not open for general visitors yet, but Carriere knows him well by now. He is always allowed in, no matter what the day or hour. Someday he imagines Carriere will just hand him a key, though he has yet to do so.

He weaves his way downstairs, calling out to Erik as he goes. Erik doesn’t like to be surprised. Erik can get somewhat violent when surprised. Once he gave Philippe a black eye and rather than apologizing he told Philippe he ought to announce himself. So now he does.

He turns a corner on the stairwell and Erik is there in front of him. He almost falls backwards in surprise but Erik catches hold of his hands and pulls him forward, not just to his feet but into a tight embrace.

Then pushes him off and tilts his head. “And where have you been, Monsieur le Comte?”

Philippe smiles. He knows he’s charming when he smiles. It ought to be enough to make even Erik forgive him. “Oh, here and there. I’m sorry. There’s been a lot of business.”

Erik regards him coolly. “I’ve been hearing stories of your _business_. The whole of Paris has, I think.”

“Paris is a fertile bed for rumors. But they are not all true.” In his case they mostly are, but he’s not going to admit to that. “Come on, Erik. Aren’t you going to let me through?”

Erik leads him down the staircase. As they walk, he monologues about the news at the opera house. He’s involved with such choices as casting and where to allocate the monthly budget, and the minutia always seems to fascinate him (it is all he has in his little world to deal with) so he always assumes it will fascinate Philippe. Philippe is not fascinated by the contents of the monologue, but he contents himself with Erik’s voice, rich and flowing. He can feel his body relaxing. The further down they climb, the more he remembers: Why he doesn’t come here often. Why he always eventually returns.

To be polite Erik ought to take Philippe into his house when they reach the bottom of the staircase, but he doesn’t. Instead, they sit in the little patch of grass Erik has, with the fake trees and flowers. Every year it grows a little bit greener. Outside it is winter; this might be the greenest patch in all of Paris.

Certainly it is the most peaceful. Philippe stretches out on the fake grass and lays his head in Erik’s lap. Erik goes silent.

“You were telling me about the money spent on the costume of Prince Raphael,” Philippe prompts him.

Erik blinks. (His eyes are very expressive—they have to be when they are all one can see of his face.) “You were listening this time.”

“I’m always listening. It’s terribly interesting. Go on.” Philippe fights a yawn. “Don’t you think it could be any cheaper?”

He lets Erik’s voice flow over him. There is a feeling to this place. The peace of it is not exactly calm. It is full of emotion. Here he can feel something of Erik’s soul, he thinks, the longing for love, the pain and the beauty. And yet throughout all of it, peace. It is not a feeling one can get anywhere else.

 

* * *

 

Halfway through his rant on budgeting Erik realizes Philippe has fallen asleep. Typical of the spoiled brat. He claims he’s paying attention and then drifts off into a dream. Well, at least he bothers to pretend.

It has been two weeks since he visited Erik last, two weeks and three days. That is not bad, really. Last time the gap was an entire month. Still. He understands why Philippe does not come here often—he is not a good companion, really, although he tries, and Philippe is a social butterfly who must flit here and there. Still, he wonders every time Philippe visits whether perhaps this will be the last time, and he will realize he is wasting his time with an old man like Erik, and he will move on.

It has been two weeks and three days since he last saw Philippe. It has been two months since they shared a bed. Today does not look promising in that aspect either, with Philippe somehow already asleep although it is barely afternoon. Still. Maybe.

Now that Philippe is asleep, he does not feel embarrassed to run his hands through Philippe’s hair. Philippe always keeps it pristine. He has always been neat and perfectly put together since Erik first saw him from a distance. Sometimes Erik teases him about this, but it seems to bother him. He does not do it often.

Philippe’s hair is long and soft. He wonders if Philippe will ever cut it. Hopes not. He might, if he takes up with some girl who likes men with short hair. But Erik turns his thoughts away from this.

He does not like thinking about Philippe’s relationships with women, though he knows they exist, even when Philippe denies them. Thinking about it makes his grip on Philippe’s hair tighten, and Philippe stirs slightly. Erik loosens his fingers and waits for Philippe to relax. Good. Much better.

Philippe does not come here often. But apart from Carriere, he is the only one who comes down here at all, and he is the only person Erik has actually invited, actually taken an interest in. He is unique. He alone among humans has inspired a certain feeling in Erik: a desire not just melancholy and abstract, like the desire for sunlight or domestic bliss, but familiar and restless. A desire that lays claim to its object. Erik admires many people, both men and women, but he never wanted to own any of them until Philippe.

(He thinks reckless thoughts sometimes, of stealing Philippe away from all those other people who demand so much attention from him, locking him away and keeping him for himself alone. The thoughts surprise him in their intensity. But he pushes them away. As long as Philippe keeps coming down, he will be fine, he will not resort to extreme measures. As long as Philippe is him in part, he does not need the whole.)

Philippe blinks awake. “What?”

“You drifted off for a moment there.”

“Sorry.” He yawns. “You were talking about Paola, the acrobat…”

“It is of no importance.” Erik gives Philippe’s hair a final stroke before putting his hands at his sides. “You should tell me of your life instead. It is more eventful, and it has been two weeks and three days.”

Philippe smiles nervously. Always so twitchy. “Has it been? I’m terribly sorry, Erik.”

“Don’t apologize. Tell me about your week.”

“The same as always.” Philippe sits up. “Let’s go inside.”

Erik supposes he really doesn’t want to know what “the same as always” means anyhow. He follows Philippe down to the house, hoping the evening will go well.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt "Cherik/Philippe, I don’t know anyone else who can make me feel this way." Possibly a little too angsty but I tried.  
> I'd love to hear from you in the comments.


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